The Hunted
by Silverspoon
Summary: Trapped in purgatory, Dean Winchester finds himself prey to the creatures he had once hunted. There, amidst the despair and eternal darkness, he comes face to face with a lost love. AU Season 8. Collab. with WelshWitch1011.
1. Chapter 1

**Authors' Note – Here we are again with another multi-chapter. We should really stop doing this, right? **

**Anywho, after learning that *SPOILER ALERT* much of the impending season 8 will be dealing with Dean's jaunt to Purgatory, WelshWitch and I got to thinking about just who our favourite Winchester may encounter there...**

* * *

'_**The Hunted'**_

_**I**_

_**x-x-x**_

The trees themselves seemed to be alive with movement, and carried upon the air of the eerie darkened sky were the snarls of scores of unknown supernatural beings.

Dean Winchester spun a slow circle on the spot, his heart hammering against his ribcage, and his brain descending into the chaos that was the full throes of his own fight or flight mechanism. He swallowed down the bile that rose in the back of his throat, and resisted the urge to hurl obscenities at the damn feathered son-of-a-bitch that had abandoned him seconds ago. Dean needed to focus, but without the presence of any obvious weapons, and with hundreds of glowing red eyes affixed upon him from the shadows, he was finding this task near impossible.

"Cas..." he hissed, deploring how very afraid he sounded even to his own ears. He tried again, this time hoping for a sharper edge to his voice as he whispered, "Castiel... this isn't funny..."

Taking a cautious step backwards, Dean scanned the leafless trees for a potential escape route. The twisted and blackened trucks stretched upwards towards the sky, which was devoid of any kind of celestial body, leaving Dean only able to guess as to whether it was currently night or day in this place.

A low, guttural growling reverberated from the trees and undergrowth around him, and Dean swallowed as he recognised the snorts and whimpers that met his ears. Hellhounds.

"Always with the freakin' hellhounds," he muttered, hoping his bravado would mask the fear rapidly overcoming him. These were the creatures that had once come to claim him, just as they had taken the life of someone he had loved.

Holding up his hand, Dean scanned the trees, and a vicious series of snarls caused his stomach to lunge.

"Good doggie..." he muttered, wincing as another of the hellhounds suddenly leapt into the clearing, teeth bared and hackles raised. The creature, in all it's hideous glory, was visible to the naked eye in the forests of Purgatory, and Dean recoiled a little as the distended snout snapped at his shin.

The gun that had been jammed down the back waist band of his jeans was mercifully still present, and he reached for it blindly, ducking the assault of the beast as it flew at him.

Soon several other hounds had joined their alpha, and Dean wasted little time in firing shot after shot into the midst of the pack. A smattering of bullets met their targets, tearing through black unearthly flesh, and the creatures howled as they dropped onto the ground, oil-like liquid pooling beneath them.

Dean cried out as talons suddenly tore into his back, deep enough to extract a slow ooze of blood. He stumbled over a wounded and twitching hellhound, and let out a strangled cry of his own as his injured back connected with the ground.

"Son of a bitch!" he wheezed, jumping to his feet as the beasts stalked toward him, their teeth glinting.

The sound of bracken cracking alerted him to the presence of something or someone else within the clearing and, as he squinted through the darkness, billowing orange tendrils of flame caused him to retreat to the centre of the clearing in surprise.

A mere moment later and the large, burning tree branch landed only inches from his feet, scattering the hellhounds, which cowered and whimpered as they turned to face the intruder.

Several hooded figures stepped into the field of Dean's vision, and he frowned as he watched them whipping the lengthy stakes they held about their bodies in an effort to fend off the hounds. The arms and hands that emerged from the sides of the cloaks appeared human, the skin pale white and soft, but Dean could not see the faces of the figures to either confirm or deny his suspicion.

A salivating hound dove at the closest figure and received a boot to the muzzle for it's trouble. The overgrown canine slid across the forest floor and it's anger was ignited further. It's eyes flashed deep crimson and it wasted no time in planting four meaty paws on the ground, before throwing it's entire weight once more at the cloaked figure. This time, the second hood intervened, and the hound found itself impaled on the stake in the blink of an eye. It let out a howl and the figure released the other end of the weapon, allowing the hellhound to stagger backwards, shaking itself in an effort to dispel the length of branch jutting out of it's torso. However, although apparently fatally wounded, the creature did not fall, and Dean watched aghast as it's wound began to heal around the stake. It was then that he noted the hounds he had emptied rounds into beginning to clamber to their feet, shaking off the gunshot wounds as though they were paper cuts.

"We need to move!" one of the figures hollered, something about the voice raised in panic pricking at Dean's memory. He had little time to dwell on it, as the closest figure to him extended an evidently human arm to him. Dean's hand closed around one that was infinitely smaller, and with skin that was both warm and smooth to the touch of his calloused fingers. He was hauled to his feet and he wasted no time in pressing his own back up against that of his rescuer as they skirted around two of the recovered hounds.

His mystery rescuer stooped low for a second, efficiently igniting a trail of strange white powder on the ground that hissed and crackled into life before jumping up into a barrier of flames at least three feet high.

"Go!" the figure yelled, shoving Dean roughly in the direction their companion had already begun to head off toward.

Their feet pounded the forest floor, and the three humans raced across a path of tree stumps and knotted roots, which the strangers mapped with ease whilst Dean precariously leaped over each one in turn.

A small cliff face jutted out at the edge of the forest, and Dean panted laboriously, clenching his teeth at the pain that scorched his back and shoulder.

From the darkness, a small, wooden structure came into view, and Dean's eyes widened as he took in the sight of a cabin, the windows nothing but slits located at intervals across the length of the makeshift building. Blazing pyres were located around the perimeter, with various charms and spells carved into the surrounding rocks and ground.

"What the hell..." he began, shaking his head in disbelief as he followed the hooded stranger in front of him toward the steps of the cabin. Yet all at once, they drew to a halt and, as he sucked in a deep breath, Dean felt the point of a blade press menacingly into the centre of his back.

"What are you?" the figure before him demanded in a tone that made Dean's mind reel with terrible possibilities. And as his brain tried to make sense of the familiarity of the voice, the figure slowly pushed the hood back from their face.

Noticing the white marks on the ground beneath his feet, Dean realised he was standing square in the centre of a devil's trap.

"I said, what the hell are you?" they demanded again.

Dean's gaze rose to the face of his saviour, and he felt his legs practically buckle beneath him as he found his eyes meeting those of an old friend.

"Ellen?" he rasped, the air rushing from his lungs as the Harvelle matriarch cast her stony glare upon him.

"Cut the bullshit, now... what are you? A shifter? Ghoul?" she accused, suddenly reaching into her pocket and producing a flask before proceeding in splashing a small amount of liquid onto Dean's face.

"Ellen..." he repeated, speaking the name almost reverently. For just a moment, he was back in a hardware store in Missouri, surrounding by the stench of blood and a ring of propane canisters. He shuddered, shoving the invoked images aside, and struggling to think with clarity above the screams that echoed in his head.

"I'll only ask you once more," she growled, flinging a fistful of salt grains into Dean's face and frowning when they failed to yield an effect, "then my friend here will shish-kebab you."

"It's me..." Dean stammered, holding his hands up in a well-practiced gesture of surrender, "oh God it's good to see you."

"Boy, don't think I'm playing here," she stated dangerously, her lip curling and her eyes steely with ruthless determination. She looked exactly as Dean remembered; beautiful and deadly, and carrying herself with an air of assuredness that was enviable.

"It's really me," Dean protested, his voice adopting a whiney quality as he added, "throw any test you got at me. Iron, silver... hell, exorcise me for all I care."

"Oh, it'll come," she promised, watching as Dean pointedly stepped over the boundary of the sigil drawn upon the floor and moved towards her.

Ignoring the startled and murderous expression on Ellen's face, Dean smiled as he felt the knife dig ever so slightly deeper into his flesh.

_'Please be her',_ he mentally chanted, allowing a bubble of hope to surface within him.

Licking his lips, Dean found his hands trembling in anticipation, and he dreaded the possibility that this was all imagined. But her name slipped from his lips before he had a chance to reign in his emotions properly.

"Jo?"

It was a name he had never allowed himself to speak aloud after Carthage, and following their brief and heartbreaking reunion at the hands of Osiris, it was a name that physically pained him to hear.

Ellen frowned, watching the face of the young man intently as tears surfaced in his green eyes and he tried to steal a glance behind him. The hope that radiated from him caused Ellen to falter, because human emotions mimicked by a demon or shape-shifter never did sit quite right.

Dean heard a heavy hearted sigh from behind him, and suddenly Ellen spoke to her accomplice.

"It's alright," she assured, keeping her own clearly homemade knife clutched in her hand as the figure stepped out from behind Dean and moved to stand beside Ellen.

Dean watched transfixed as the hood dropped from around her face, revealing a cascade of honey blonde curls that instantly made his heart ache.

The young woman's gaze lifted to meet green eyes, and Dean stared dumbly.

"My God..." he shook his head, greedily drinking in the sight of her and trying hard not to smile like an idiot as his heart shuddered in his chest.

"God?" Ellen scoffed, "not been around these parts for a long time."

A dark eyebrow raised as she watched the pair stare silently at each other.

"If you're really him..." Jo finally spoke, her tone level and giving little about her inner turmoil away.

"Jo, honey..." Ellen interjected, her features a mask of maternal concern as she rested her free hand on Jo's shoulder. Brown eyes fluttered closed for just a second, and Jo stole a steadying breath.

"It's okay, Mom," she whispered, turning briefly to her mother to offer the assurance. A tiny smile passed between the women, before Jo spoke to Dean again, "If you're really him, then tell me..."

"Anything," Dean breathed aloud before he could stop himself. Jo shot him an unreadable look, but continued nonetheless.

"When Osiris brought me back, I came to you..." she paused in order to correct herself mindfully, "to Dean."

Dean closed his eyes, a hundred memories of that night assailing him with powerful force, almost knocking him off his feet. The pale pallor of her skin had been the thing he found most heartbreaking, as it had erased the rosy glow from the apples of her cheeks that she had possessed in life. He still recalled her touch before she had vanished for good; the feel of ice cold fingertips caressing his skin, and how he had leaned into it rather than shy away, knowing that it would be the last opportunity for him to feel as much.

"I said you were a kid," Dean breathed quietly, "I said, hunters are never kids. But I didn't want to do it alone."

Ellen's eyes widened as Jo stepped away from her side, and she watched in disbelief as her daughter stood in front of the man who may or may not in fact be Dean Winchester.

"Jo, are you crazy?" Ellen demanded, noting the dangerously close proximity of the pair.

"It's okay, Mom," Jo said slowly, drawing herself up before Dean who seemed mesmerized by the woman in front of him. "It's him... it's really Dean."

"Now Jo, we don't know..." Ellen began, gasping as Jo suddenly reached up toward his face and her hand fluttered against his cheek.

Dean closed his eyes, and the moment played out between them exactly as it had all those months before. Yet this time, Jo's touch was warm, her fingers soft and gentle against his skin. He pressed further into her touch, opening his eyes to gauge her reaction as he very carefully lifted his own hand to cover hers. Before Ellen could utter another word of protest, Dean had pulled her willing daughter into his arms.

"Now just a minute!" Ellen yelled incredulously.

But Dean and Jo ignored her, content to stand in a lingering embrace that neither seemed to want to be the first to pull away from.

Dean was in awe at the feel of her in his arms, and the reassuring warmth of her skin next to his. She smelled just as he remembered, and as her small fingers wound into the fabric of his jacket and she hugged him closer to her body, Dean pressed a kiss to her forehead.

"I missed you," he stated, realising how lame his admission would sound. Yet words failed him, and he could do nothing but hold onto the woman in his arms as if he would sink without her.  
"I missed you too," he tossed out with a grin, glancing down at Ellen, yet still keeping his arms locked firmly around the younger Harvelle.

"Yeah, well you keep your damn hands to yourself!" Ellen warned, tipping her knife in the air to illustrate her seriousness.

Dean smirked, returning his eyes to Jo's face, and he shook his head in wonder as he took in the blush on her cheeks and the brilliance that radiated from her eyes.

"What the hell are you doing here, Jo?" he demanded, suddenly wincing as the force of their embrace caused his back to throb in protest.

"You're hurt?" she pressed, forgetting his question as she withdrew her arms from around him and stared down in alarm at the crimson stain on her hand.

"It's not serious," Dean assured her, the groan he released as she tentatively traced the jagged scratch marks doing little to convince her of as much. Jo frowned and slipped beneath Dean's shoulder, beginning to lead him towards the closed doorway of the cabin.

"Jo, you can't just..." Ellen attempted to protest, her eyes wide as she watched her daughter mount the steps with Dean in tow, and rap purposefully on the door.

"You guys aren't the only ones?" Dean inquired, his features clouding as he contemplated just what other surprises would lay behind the door. For one terrible moment, his mind wandered to his parents, neither of whom he and Sam had been able to track down during their brief visit to heaven a few years ago. The thought had often gnawed at Dean, but it was one to be filed away for another time, when he could perhaps do something about it.

"It's us," Jo called out, shifting her weight from one foot to the other as she struggled under Dean's weight. He forced himself to straighten up a little, letting out another hiss of pain as the action tugged at his wounds and forced the skin further apart. A wave of nausea overcame him, but Dean shook his head in order to dispel it.

"Password," a gruff voice barked in reply, and although Dean strained to hear the word that Jo uttered as she leaned closer towards the door, he simply could not discern it. After a pause, there was a satisfied grunt from within the cabin, and the sound of some sort of makeshift lock sliding out of place.

"Keep your mouth shut and speak when spoken to," Ellen warned quietly but urgently as she passed by Dean and stepped into the cabin ahead of them, "folks round these parts are a little jumpier than you're used to."

Dean nodded, gritting his teeth as the step up to the cabin door sent a sharp, burning pain tearing at his back.

"He's okay, we know him," he heard Jo state, but before he could make out the three figures standing around the dimly lit cabin, Jo had ushered him behind a curtain and he found the back of his legs hitting what felt like a wooden bed frame.

"There are more of you here?" he asked, watching as she simply shrugged and began pouring water from an earthenware jug into a bowl.

Candle light flickered against the wall and, gazing upon her face as relief and hope and a thousand other emotions washed over him, Dean wondered if he had ever seen anything as beautiful as the sight before him.

"A few," Jo nodded, busying herself with tearing up what looked like a cotton sheet and dipping it into the water, "okay, take off your shirt."

Dean watched her closely, still in awe of being around her again, yet each time he caught her gaze, Jo glanced away or pretended not to have noticed the tension that existed between them.

Dutifully shrugging off his jacket, Dean closed his eyes and attempted to remove his shirt. However, each time he strived to push it from his shoulder, he felt another trickle of blood ebb from the wound.

"Here, let me..." Jo offered, gently pulling the offending item from his shoulders and dragging the sleeves down his arms.

She dropped the shirt onto the bed beside him, and raised a mildly amused eyebrow as he struggled to shed his undershirt. She was certain that there had been few occasions in his lifetime when Dean Winchester had taken so long to shed his clothing on the command of a woman.

"Haven't got all night here, Dean-o," she stated, before somewhat awkwardly reaching for the hem of his t-shirt and helping him pull it up over his head.

"Turn around," she directed, her voice now little more than a whisper as he simply stared up at her, his green eyes wide and filled with unchecked affection. Her breath caught in her throat, and Jo felt an overpowering heat suddenly rising upon her cheeks.

"Jo..." Dean breathed, catching her hand in his. Their palms kissed, and Dean rubbed his thumb over the back of her hand. A thousand unspoken words and missed opportunities filled his head, yet he continued to struggle to voice the one confession his heart was all but begging him to make.

Jo appeared similarly transfixed, her eyes wide and her lips parted absently.

"Jo?" Ellen called out from behind the makeshift screen, her tone indicating her unease , "we're right outside if you need us, sweetie."

"I'm fine, Mom," Jo assured, turning her gaze only briefly from Dean's to direct her reply in Ellen's direction.

Jo smiled, rolling her eyes as her mother's dulcet tones served to ruin the moment that had been building between them. But as she attempted to slip her hand from Dean's, he climbed to his feet, his hand still clutching hers, and his breath ghosting warm and steady across her cheek.

"Please be real," he whispered, and his expression suddenly clouded over with utter despair as he considered the possibility that this might all be a dream.

Slowly, hesitantly, but with an obvious eagerness, Dean leaned forwards and pressed his lips to Jo's mouth. She uttered a strangled gasp, barely reacting as Dean wound his fingers into her hair and gently forced her head backwards so he could deepen the kiss. After several seconds, Jo responded, her lips moving in perfect, hungry synchronicity with his.

They drew apart panting quietly, and whilst Jo immediately peered down at the dirt floor, Dean kept his gaze trained keenly upon her.

"I'm sorry," he said softly, a lump rising in his throat, "I didn't want the only time I kissed you to be..."

"It's okay," Jo interjected, cutting Dean off before he could finish. There was a strange and vacant look about her now, and she busied herself with preparing a strip of cloth with which to clean his wounds. She added in a quiet voice, "You should turn around. You don't want those to get infected."

"Hardly matters since I'm here," Dean answered, although he obediently turned his back to Jo, allowing her access to the wounds that still burned as though to remind him of their presence.

Dean listened as Jo dipped the cloth in the bowl and he heard her wring out the excess water. He jumped as she made contact with the wound, and she placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder and made soft soothing sounds whilst she tended to the claw marks.

"I'm sorry," she apologised, focusing on being as gentle as she possibly could be. Yet when Dean suddenly found her free hand and attempted to entangle their fingers, Jo's resulting jolt of surprise extracted another pained wince from her patient.

Jo licked her lips, still feeling the residual hum of Dean's mouth on hers.

"Can I ask you something?" she began uncertainly, watching as she dipped the cloth into the bowl again, and a cloud of red billowed across the water.

He nodded, and Jo ploughed on without needing further encouragement.

"Why did... why did you kiss me? In Carthage. I mean... why?" her chin dropped down almost to her chest, and she did all she could to avoid his gaze.

Dean remained silent, watching the flames on the cluster of candles flicker and hiss as a result of an unseen draft. He sighed in contemplation, allowing his courage to build before he spoke.

"Because that was it... that was the end for us. And... I... I needed you to know that I..." he paused, cursing his lack of eloquence.

"We don't have to talk about it now," she said dismissively and with a forced smile as she tore the remaining piece of sheet into two larger strips. Dean shook his head, watching her roll them into bandages.

"That was our problem, Jo... always the wrong place, wrong time," he lamented, sitting up straighter as she leant in closer and began to wrap the bandage snugly around his chest and back. Her face was dangerously close to his and he could not help but stare, watching a fan of dark blonde lashes flutter against her cheek.

"You're not gonna disappear on me again, are you?" he checked desperately, trying to lighten his tone with the addition of an ill-timed smile. Jo deflected the question with a smile of her own and shook her head as she continued to bandage his wounds.

"Nope, it's me... hellhound scars and all," she answered with an uncharacteristic self-conscious air. Deciding to deflect her self-effacing comment, she explained, "Best we can figure... the dogs shielded us from the blast and we were dragged down here with them. We're as real as you are, I guess."

Dean frowned, appearing to process this new information. "So, I've not checked out? I'm alive?"

Jo laughed softly, tying a small knot in the makeshift bandage before raising an eyebrow in amusement.

"Yeah, you're alive," she confirmed, allowing herself to sweep her eyes over his face for reassurance, "guess you've had the whole package tour, huh? Heaven, Hell... now this place."

Dean grinned, shrugging as he watched her swallow hard, and he let his eyes wander down her throat and across the pale skin exposed by the neck of her shirt. Her clothes were the same she had worn the day she had died, although some effort had obviously been made to scrub them clean, and did his utmost to keep his gaze from wandering to where he knew he would find a gaping hole.

"This place isn't looking so bad right now," he confessed, momentarily forgetting the pain in his back at the sound of her laughter.

"It gets worse," she replied, the smallest smile alive on her face, although the look in her eyes was telling. Dean knew from what he had heard of Purgatory already that an extended stay there would be no picnic. Jo, Ellen and the rest of the human souls trapped with them could only have spent every waking moment living in fear of the creatures that had now turned the tables on them, making the hunters their prey.

"I'm sorry," Dean breathed quietly, carefully manoeuvring his arms back inside his shirt, deciding that he could make do without the t-shirt for convenience sake. "If we'd have known you were here, I wouldn't have rested until we fixed it."

"It's not your fault, Dean," Jo answered, shaking her head and beginning to clear away her makeshift medical supplies. "I don't blame you."

"You should," Dean argued, his irritation peaking at Jo's stubborn refusal to lay blame for her predicament at his door. "If it wasn't for me, you guys wouldn't..."

"Enough Dean," Jo said patiently, although her mouth was twisted by displeasure into a frown, "if you feel like holding another pity party, the forest's that way... but don't expect me to join you."

A voice from the doorway interjected suddenly, and Dean whipped his head around to face Ellen Harvelle as she spoke, her tone reflecting nothing but hostility.

"He's right, Jo," she stated, her glare challenging either of the younger hunters to argue, "I watched you nearly bleed out in that hardware store and it was all for the never-ending, self-obsessed Winchester mission. Well... I've had just about my fill of losing the places and people I love because of them."

Jo picked up the bowl and bustled past her mother, choosing to ignore the words of open provocation.

"I'm gonna get some air," Jo stated, placing the bowl onto the table in the outer room before she shrugged on her cloak. Ellen opened her mouth to speak but Jo held up her hand in warning, shifting from one foot to the other in discomfort as she felt the eyes of the three others in the room focused upon the mother/daughter pair.

"It's my turn to keep watch," Jo snapped, picking up a sharp ended spear and hefting it in her arms. On closer inspection, Dean realised that the weapons had been fashioned from old tree branches, and he found himself impressed with the ingenuity.

Dean exhaled and avoided Ellen's gaze as he attempted to follow Jo out onto the porch. But a hand landed squarely in the centre of his chest, blocking his escape and moving him forcibly back behind the curtain.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Ellen snarled, her eyes narrowed as she glared accusingly at Dean.

He remained momentarily silent, his eyes falling to the scuffed toes of his boots and lingering there. Those final few moments between he and Jo had plagued him for the past three years, and out of all the regrets he harboured she was undoubtedly his greatest.

Dean had mourned her loss and so much more; because it had not been until their forced parting that he had realised the true extent of his feelings.

Dean understood Ellen's anger all too well, because although his heart had soared at the sight of Jo before him, along with it had come the realisation that he had ultimately been the one to doom them to the terrible existence they were living out.

"I know 'I'm sorry' is never gonna cut it," he said hoarsely, "but you gotta believe me, Ellen, I..."

"I ain't gotta believe jack shit, boy!" Ellen fumed, "your father got Bill killed, and because of you and your damn brother, we're stuck here with every pissed off supernatural creature we've ever hunted, except now, they're after us. The Winchesters are poison, and I don't want my daughter caught up in that again."

"Ellen..." Dean began, taking a step towards the woman and extending his hand to clasp her arm. She recoiled from his touch violently, a sneer affixed to her lips.

"Over three years we've been here, Dean," she hissed, tears springing to her eyes, "Jo was barely alive when we were dumped in that forest."

"I can't imagine," Dean said quietly, meeting Ellen's furious gaze. She shook her head wildly, a manic laugh bubbling up past her lips.

"No, you can't," she retorted, her grip tightening on the stake she held in her hand. "I thought my baby girl was dead, and it was because of you."

For a few moments, Dean debated maintaining silence, but when he finally resolved to speak and opened his mouth to do so, Ellen cut him off with a snarl.

"I swear to you, Dean," she growled, her expression echoing the sentiment behind her final words, "if you don't stay away from my daughter, so help me God, I will kill you myself."


	2. Chapter 2

'_**The Hunted'**_

_**II**_

_**x-x-x**_

The chill of the air outside caught Dean by surprise, and he felt himself shiver under several layers of clothing as the breeze wound around his neck and down his spine.

Jo sat on the makeshift porch of the cabin, a long homemade spear in her hand, as she stared past the flickering beacons and out into the woods beyond.

Dean still could not quite believe the sight before him, and despite the seriousness of his current situation, a smile tugged at his lips as he watched her.

"You gonna sit your ass down or just stare at me? Because the staring thing... it's a little creepy," Jo drawled, glancing back at him and arching an eyebrow.

Caught a little off-guard, Dean nodded and strolled uncertainly toward her, his hands jammed in his pockets. He sat down next to Jo on the wooden planks that comprised the floor, and cast a careful gaze out at the woods. He hoped that the next few minutes at least would be free from supernatural intrusion, and every subsequent rustle of tree branches in the wind threatened to push his nerves over the edge.

"Ignore my Mom. She's... she's just..." Jo began, peering steadily into the flames of a nearby pyre as she sighed out loud and simply shrugged.

Dean drew in a measured breath, surprised to find the night air faintly permeated by the scent of wildflowers. He had assumed such things would not exist in the depths of Purgatory.

Jo tossed her mane of curls over her shoulder and she stole a glance up at Dean when she was almost certain he had turned away. Dean intercepted her gaze, shaking his head as his eyes roved over Jo, and he realised that, at some unknown point in time, he had perfectly memorised every last detail of her face. It had certainly been imprinted in his mind since their parting, but Dean had always worried that perhaps some aspect of his memory had failed him, and the image he saw of Jo Harvelle every time he closed his eyes was an inaccurate one; however, here she was, and every last little detail was just how Dean had remembered it.

"You're just as beautiful as you always were," he murmured, "it's like you stepped out of a dream or something."

Jo laughed self-consciously and her smile was teasing, "You dream about me, Dean-o?"

Dean swallowed hard, his mouth becoming unbearably dry as he struggled to respond with the level of honesty that was so uncomfortable to him, and yet which he knew Jo deserved.

"Lot of things changed since you were gone," Dean stated, his eyes narrowing as he regarded Jo, who shivered a little as the breeze whipped up around them. The inferences behind his words were indistinguishable, but Jo was not even certain that she wished to decode them. Figuring out the mystery that was Dean Winchester had once appealed to her, but that was before her life had become complicated by hunting and all it entailed.

"I'll bet," she replied, her voice dropping to barely above a whisper. During her time in Purgatory, Jo had often thought of the world she had left behind, wondering what could have become of the people she cared most about in her absence. She hoped that they were alive and then she prayed that, if they were not, their souls had at least found some measure of the peace that had always managed to evade them in life. One soul in particular occupied her thoughts more than others, much to Ellen's annoyance. However, Jo had realised early on that the only way to make it through the days without driving herself half insane with worry was to attempt to distance herself from it all, and so she had banished all thoughts of a certain Winchester from her mind. Seeing Dean again only served to reopen a wound that had all but healed over, and her mother's reaction to his presence was the proverbial salt to be rubbed in it.

Jo was suddenly stirred from her thoughts as she felt Dean's hand enclose around her own, and she found that her fingers somehow wound through his of their own accord. She mentally berated herself for her lack of resolve but, try as she may, she just could not find the desire to let go.

Jo licked her lips nervously and nodded her head toward the door of the cabin, where she had no doubt that Ellen was holed up licking her wounds, "I thought my Mom just told you to stay away from me?"

Dean chuckled at the teasing smile that illuminated her features, and he arched an eyebrow as he realised the similarities between this and another conversation that had taken place in the roadhouse all those years ago.

"Yeah, well let's just say I'm not as afraid of your Mom as I used to be," he stated, with more confidence than he felt. Jo giggled, and Dean's heart soared at the sound.

"You know she's probably eavesdropping right now. You wanna say that a little louder so she can hear you?" Jo taunted.

"I'm good," Dean retorted with a grimace, and Jo let out a suitably amused snort of laughter.

"All I know is," he stated definitely, giving her little room for argument, "I'm getting out of here, sweetheart, and you and your Mom are coming with me."

Jo sighed, and her head dropped to rest absently against Dean's shoulder. Dean blinked in surprise at the familiarity of her action, but he smiled as he watched Jo blush with the same realisation.

"I'm not sure I belong in that world anymore," she mused. Her tone was troubled as she continued, "Time moves differently. It's been three years and I haven't aged a day. I guess most girls would be grateful for that at least but… I don't know… it feels like we've been here a lifetime already, Dean."

"Well, the flying cars will take some getting used to, but..." Dean tailed off, grinning, and Jo swatted at him. Dean let out a low chuckle as Jo muttered 'jackass' under her breath, although her own amusement was evident in the slight upward quirk of her lips.

"You uh... you belong with me," Dean murmured as his laughter subsided, his voice exhibiting a certainty that shocked Jo, "and I'm not leaving without you. There's no way I could walk away without you again."

Jo appeared to mull this over, and she tried desperately to lighten the moment with humour, even as the sound of gas canisters exploding echoed throughout her memory.

"Is this the patented 'first night in Purgatory' speech, Dean?" she enquired, returning her gaze to the woodlands before them as she awaited the cocksure reply she felt sure was imminent.

"Sweetheart, please," a chuckle reverberated from his chest, before he flashed Jo a comically serious expression. "Why? Is it any more effective than the 'last night on earth' speech?"

"No!" she scoffed, realising she had laughed more in the past ten minutes than she had for the last three years. It was admittedly difficult to find much humour in the situation that had been thrust upon the Harvelles, even after their sacrifice for the greater good, and Jo had often felt like in those three years, her soul had aged thirty.

She blinked as Dean's arm landed around her shoulders and a kiss was pressed to her cheek, and the innate tenderness of the gesture made her heart ache.

"So, you know how we got our seats on the little bus, but what's the deal with you being here?" Jo asked, disentangling herself from Dean's arms as the sound of a twig snapping somewhere within the surrounding forest set her nerves on edge. For a few seconds, both hunters remained silent and still, scoping out the darkened landscape as they awaited the appearance of some otherworldly creature. When nothing happened, they settled back, bodies relaxing somewhat, although Jo hefted the stake in her hand and kept her narrowed eyes affixed on the forest line.

"Pretty similar story," Dean replied, "Cas and I got dragged here on the ass of a big fugly dude I stabbed in the neck."

Jo shot a look at Dean but he failed to elaborate further, deciding that the goings on of the past three years were perhaps best left to discussion when they had managed to return topside. The very fact that this might never be possible was one that Dean bluntly refused to entertain.

"You said Cas is here?" Jo pressed, her eyebrows shooting upwards as she considered the possibilities that having a divine being on their side opened up. She was confused when Dean's features clouded, and his face became a mask of obvious fury.

"Cas was here," he all but snarled, emphasising the key word in his response. "Bastard left me here to rot."

Jo appeared shocked, her mouth falling slightly open and her eyes widening.

"He left you?" she echoed, her tone disbelieving. She shook her head dumbly, and Dean shrugged.

"It's... a long story," he answered, realising that the whole 'evil ex-angel becoming ruler of all creation' story would have to wait for another time; preferably a time that involved large quantities of beer and pizza.

Jo puffed out her cheeks and blew out breath, realising that it was perhaps best not to press the issue of the absent angel. "Okay. So... what's your big plan? Because I hate to break it to you, Dean, but some people have been down here for literally centuries, so... if you know how to get us out..."

"I'm working on it," he replied with a wince, only succeeding in extracting a dubious look from Jo. He continued unabashed, "And hey, I'm sure Sammy's on the case... you know Sam's the brains of the operation. You got nothing to worry about, sweetheart. Trust me. Sam will have us out of here in no time."

Jo's expression bordered on amusement and disdain, but she nodded in an effort to at least humour Dean. As he glanced away toward the direction of a faint rustling sound, Jo cleared her throat before she enquired as nonchalantly as possible, "So... you got anybody waiting for you up there?"

Dean's head snapped back, and he stared at Jo for the longest time before finally running one hand through his hair.

"Well, that was real subtle, Harvelle," Dean stated, grinning from ear to ear and dodging the gentle punch that Jo aimed at his bicep.

"Shut up," she growled in mock annoyance, her expression vaguely petulant. Dean snickered, but after a few moments of good natured ribbing had elapsed, his expression grew serious. He knew that Jo was long due the truth, especially where matters of his heart where concerned, and so he stole a steadying breath before he resolved to continue.

"There was someone, a while back," he revealed, watching Jo carefully for signs of a reaction. When it came, however, her curiousity and disappointment were alive only in the recesses of her eyes, whilst her face was an unreadable mask.

"A while back?" she queried, toying with the sharpened point of her stake as she attempted to avoid looking back at Dean. He squared his shoulders and inclined himself more towards the tress, putting a little distance between their bodies; although he was unsure why, it seemed easier that way now that the subject of Lisa and the year he had spent with her had arisen. Sam had once suggested that talking about his last in a long line of failed relationships might prove cathartic for Dean, but he had openly scoffed at the idea and then renewed his threat to break his little brother's nose should he ever mention the Braeden's again. It was a threat he had fully intended to make good on, and one that Sam had wisely chosen to observe.

"Right after we defeated Lucifer, I got out of hunting for a while," explained Dean, careful to keep his tone level, thus avoiding any inflections of emotion, which he knew could easily be misinterpreted by Jo.

Jo appeared puzzled, clearly wondering what could have steered Dean away from the job he had once only half-jokingly referred to as 'the family business'. Hunting had literally formed the basis of Dean's life, and Jo had a hard time imagining what it would mean for him as a person to shy away from it. She imagined it would be much akin to losing a limb, but she kept her thoughts on the matter undisclosed, telling herself that perhaps he had been happy with that development, for the time it had lasted.

"You got out?" she repeated, feigning casualness.

Dean nodded, rubbing his hand across the back of his neck as his thoughts turned to his ill-advised decision.

"Sammy, he uh... he said 'yes' to Lucifer. Jumped in the cage and signed himself up for an eternity of torture... you know, the usual deal," Dean said gruffly. His eyes flashed in the darkness, and Jo sighed as she watched the man visibly struggle to reign in the pain that rehashing old memories brought him.

Jo's eyes widened at the news, and she stared at the ground as she tried to digest this newest piece of information, and she mouthed quietly, "Wow..."

Dean heaved a sigh, "He told me he wanted me to be happy; that I had to go live this normal life... like he thought I wanted. Like I thought I wanted. There was this woman... Guess she'd always been this kind of mystery to me, you know? She had this whole white picket fence thing going on... nice house, regular job, a kid... Guess I just wanted to belong somewhere."

Jo remained silent, her fingertips running over the tip of the stake.

"Dean Winchester being respectable," she teased, attempting to lighten the mood, "who knew?"

An uneasy fluttering sensation bubbled up from the pit of Jo's stomach, and she deliberated over asking her next question until the dull aching in her heart became too persistent to be ignored.

"But, you didn't stay?" she asked quietly, glancing up through a tendril of blonde hair, "how come?"

Dean shook his head, glancing up at the sky. He wondered for a moment if the absence of moon and stars was a permanent status, but he refrained from asking as much, knowing that the swift change in topic would not be appreciated.

"Because... I don't belong in that world. I'm a hunter, Jo. It's who I am, it's who I'm always gonna be. I'm always gonna have my pain in the ass brother around, I'm always gonna keep at least a couple of shotguns in the bedroom closet, and... I guess I'm always gonna be just a little bit screwed up."

A frown creased Jo's brows, and she nodded in understanding, "And that wasn't who she wanted you to be?"

Dean shrugged, contemplating his year with Lisa for perhaps the first time since their parting.

"Did you love her?" Jo mumbled, wincing as soon as the words had left her lips. She knew she had no right to ask that question of him, but she desperately wanted to know how things might have turned out if circumstances had been different.

"I loved the idea of her," Dean answered after a few seconds of heavy silence had elapsed. Jo chuckled, appreciating the uncharacteristically deep response.

"That's kind of sad," said Jo, reaching out and hesitantly touching Dean's arm with the tips of her fingers. He hazarded a smile and shrugged.

"Story of my life, sister," he quipped, fighting hard to prevent the upward curve of his lips from waning. "I like to think that my choices would have been different if… well… you get what I mean."

Jo arched a blonde brow, but remained stoically silent. She sat back on her heels, evidently lost in thought, but all the while her keen brown-eyed gaze swept the landscape for any signs of immediate trouble.

"You mean if… well, Carthage… I guess…?" she stammered, unable to draw a conclusion to her question. She winced as she realised how emotionally stunted they would both sound to a casual eaves-dropper, which more than likely included half of the current occupants of the cabin behind. Jo had little doubt that the others would be pressed up against the grain of the door, ears flapping as they struggled to overhear everything that transpired between Jo and the mystery arrival.

Dean nodded, feeling warmth spread over his cheeks, which he was sure were now glowing an embarrassing shade of pink.

Jo's smile was wistful, and it remained as she sat mourning the chances that had been stolen from them. Shifting uncomfortably, Jo attempted to lighten the almost suffocating mood that had descended.

"Maybe it was for the best. We both know we'd have driven each other crazy," she stated, perhaps disbelieving the sentiment behind her own words. Her breath stilled in her chest as Dean's fingers found their way to her chin and he tilted her head back to encourage their eyes to meet.

"Only one way to find out," he replied softly, his thumb brushing over the curve of her jaw.

Jo remained silent, merely watching as Dean edged closer and she found her eyes inexplicably drawn to his mouth. His lips were full and cracked, and Dean's tongue shot out as he self-consciously moistened them.

Dean's breath ghosted along her cheek before brushing gently across her own lips. Jo could almost feel his kisses, and fear suddenly caused her stomach to plummet as though she were looking over a great precipice.

"But what if we're trapped here?" she whispered, angling her head as his fingers wove through her hair and his hand slid up the back of her neck.

Dean raised his eyebrows pointedly and he bestowed a reassuring smile upon her.

"We're getting out of here... Okay?" He prompted a reply by sweeping his thumb over her cheek.

"Okay," she breathed in agreement, finally closing the distance between them in a moment of decision. The hunters had danced around each other for long enough, and Jo was not about to waste another moment worrying about other people's perceptions of what could exist between them when Dean appeared finally willing to embrace his own emotions.

A gentle sigh left her body as their lips met in an eager kiss that reignited a flame within her that Jo had long ago thought extinguished.

When they parted, Dean pressed his cheek to hers, closing his eyes as he attempted to dispel all thoughts of Carthage and their final moments together. Her skin was warm against his face, and he brushed feather-light kisses across her cheek, seeking out the corner of her mouth. Finally he willed himself to open his eyes and was relieved to see a pair of bright, brown orbs shining back at him.

"So... Now what?" Jo asked, holding his gaze as the tips of their noses brushed and his hand continued to steady the back of her head.

Dean appeared to think this over momentarily before peering out into the darkness and the eerie woodland beyond. From somewhere nearby, an ominous howl that Dean recognised as either werewolf or Wendigo resounded, and even before it had died down a series of feral growls rose up to plague the night.

"Now, we need a plan."

**Authors' Note - Any errors or typos are entirely mine (Silverspoon's) tonight. Apologies in advance, but do we get virtual points at least for another update?! **


	3. Chapter 3

'_**The Hunted'**_

_**III**_

_**x-x-x**_

The night had passed without event, save for Jo trading her post with one of the other occupants of the cabin; a mousy woman who seemed unable to speak a word of English, and who had surveyed Dean from behind hooded eyes as though he were as potentially dangerous as one of the creatures that lurked in the woodlands. Jo had addressed her as Rosette, murmuring a few words of broken French that Dean could not translate as they traded shifts.

Jo and Dean had returned to the cabin, bunking down at separate ends of the room, Jo at Ellen's side with a protective maternal arm draped across her body, and Dean using his tattered jacket as a pillow. Despite the obvious discomfort of the living quarters, Dean had slept soundly, awakening hours later only when strange shafts of almost white sunlight had washed over his features and disturbed his dreams.

After a meagre breakfast of something that faintly resembled oatmeal, and a brief and wholly unwelcome wash in icy water, Dean found himself headed toward the town with Jo, hungry, cold, and pissed.

Jo kept her weapon close, holding the spear purposefully in her hands as she surveyed the wilderness around them.

"Seems kind of quiet," Dean observed, finding nothing but an eerie silence to meet his ears. Apparently his earlier question of birdsong had been answered, and the sky above them was devoid of life.

"Not a whole lot comes out during the day," Jo explained, swallowing as she blew out a breath that became visible in the air before her, "maybe a hell hound once or twice."

Dean shot a glance in her direction, catching the fearful expression in her eyes.

"Jo, I... I'm sorry. For everything, I..." he licked his lips, surveying the path and the horizon before them. His knuckles whitened with the force he now exerted on the gun in his hand.

"Dean," Jo interrupted, turning to face him with a no-nonsense expression that left little room for argument, "I thought we were done with all that touchy-feely crap last night? Can we just, move on... please?"

Her eyes continued to tick cautiously toward the forest around them, but she allowed her gaze to rest on his for just a moment, and Dean floundered all the more for words. Jo watched his Adam's apple bob in his throat, and when he eventually braved staring at her face, Dean's expression was etched with pain.

"You were my biggest regret, Jo," he admitted, staring at his shoes all the while like the yellow, emotionally stunted coward he was.

Jo sighed, releasing the spear to allow one hand to rest against his cheek, "I know."

He turned into her touch, his mind instantly reeling to a similar encounter only months before when her hand had been cold, and the future held no possibility for anything other than grief. Smiling, and with a teasing shrug, Jo leant up and pressed a kiss to his cheek, her breath blissfully warm against the shell of his ear.

"But who knows, get us out of here alive, Winchester, and... maybe I can be something more, huh?"

Dean laughed softly, about to offer her a characteristically arrogant but heartfelt assurance, when Jo arched an eyebrow and strode on ahead.

"Get your ass moving, Dean-o," she called over her shoulder, each stride quickening in pace.

Dean nodded, finding renewed purpose as he muttered quietly in her direction, "Pretty sure you could be everything."

They were climbing a steep incline before Dean even knew it, and he was faintly embarrassed to find himself panting as he followed behind Jo. She strode ahead with seemingly little effort, and Dean comforted himself with the thought that she had likely had plenty of practice over the terrain during the past three years.

The mid-morning air had begun to warm a little and, with the exertion of the trek also acting upon her body, Jo shrugged out of her cloak before draping it over her arm. Dean watched carefully from behind, pausing on the rise of the hill in order to stare up at Jo. She was a deal thinner than the last time he had seen her, less healthy looking and more gaunt, and her shoulder blades stuck out almost painfully. Dean let out a sigh that was heavy with guilt, but forced a smile onto his lips as Jo wheeled around to face him.

"C'mon, princess," she quipped, quirking her head in Dean's direction and watching analytically as Dean struggled up the remainder of the hill, grabbing onto shrubbery in order to haul himself further along.

"Where exactly are we headed?" Dean queried, struggling to maintain an even tone as he regained his breath.

"I told you… into town," Jo replied, extending one arm into the distance, where Dean could just about make out furls of smoke curling towards the sky from the bottom of the small valley they now stood at the peak of.

Dean's eyebrows rose in surprise as he surveyed the ramshackle town below, and blinked at the sight of a horse and cart trundling down the centre of the main street.

"Wait a second... so Purgatory is like some lame Eastwood B-movie?" his gaze flicked between Jo and the sparse scattering of buildings. She simply shrugged and smiled at his predictably pop-culture inference.

"Not exactly," Jo replied, glancing down as Dean extended his hand toward her and she cautiously slid her palm against his.

"Some of these folks have been here a long time, a few hundred years at least. There are other humans, other camps, and more towns down here. From what we've heard, it's like a Marty McFly thing. People live the only way they knew how, I guess. But it's too dangerous to travel between locales. The demons stake out the main routes, and there's a whole world of toothy, snarling, natives just waiting to chow down on us... especially hunters. We're like a fine wine around here."

Dean nodded, understanding the cruel logic behind his new surroundings, "So nice to feel wanted. Nothing like a little vengeance, huh?!"

"Come on," Jo encouraged softly, beginning to lead Dean down towards the town. She kept her knees bent and navigated the treacherous terrain expertly, steering Dean in her wake almost as an afterthought. He was careful to tread only upon the ground that Jo did, and by the time they had reached the path that would lead them directly into town Dean was almost exhausted by the effort.

However, Jo took off in a jog towards the nearest building and bounded up the rickety, half rotten porch steps before Dean had time to even blink. Groaning from the dull stab of pain in his wounded shoulder, Dean trotted after the other hunter, who it appeared was physically none the worse for wear as a consequence of her time in Purgatory.

Dean was several steps behind Jo as she pushed the door ajar and slipped inside the building, which was as dank, dusty and dilapidated on the inside as Dean had expected. However, in the centre of the room, barrels containing various food stuffs and other necessities stood. Dean's mouth almost dropped open as he spied a crate full of ripe red apples, and next to it, a box filled with wax candles.

"Wait a minute, Jo," demanded Dean, resting a restraining hand on Jo's arm and pulling her back against him.

"What is it?" Jo inquired, her eyes searching Dean's features and interpreting the dubious look he wore with a frown of her own.

"Something here stinks," Dean answered immediately, gesturing towards the assorted merchandise with one arm as he added, "where did all this stuff come from? Apples, candles, cloth, wagons… a horse?!"

Jo shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other, her eyes narrowing as she gazed up at Dean and yet remained silent.

"Maybe it's the spirit of an un-baptized horse…" Jo suggested, one fine eyebrow arching as she crossed her arms and glared at Dean. He shook his head, refusing to find humour in her quip.

"Cut the bull, Harvelle," he snapped, wincing in almost immediate regret at his own tone.

"Fine, but you won't like it," Jo retorted, beginning to tap one foot almost nervously against the floorboards before heaving a sigh and rolling her eyes. Her countenance was guilty, and Dean wondered about the revelation that was to come. He merely continued to stare expectantly at Jo, watching even as she began to move about the store, gathering supplies in her arms.

"Some things do seem to just get sucked in… the occasional animal… or person, in our case. Happens whenever one living soul gets too close to something heinous when it's on the wrong end of a weapon," Jo said, pausing to shine an apple against the hem of her top before she tossed it to Dean. He plucked it from the air on impulse, and his eyes fell to the shiny surface of its skin. It was a little too perfect; round, full, juicy, and without an apparent flaw.

"And this?" Dean inquired, holding the apple aloft. Jo sighed, shaking her head.

"Magic," she answered, then at Dean's confused expression, clarified, "witches. Purgatory's full of them."

"Wait, are you telling me you're trusting witches… skeevy, skanky, 'pact with Lucifer making' _witches_… to make your Wheaties?" Dean demanded, his voice rising in anger as he glared at Jo.

"And how exactly are we meant to survive, huh?" Jo growled, lowering her voice and ushering Dean over to a secluded corner of the general store.

Dean licked his lips, shaking his head and gesticulating in frustration at the contents of the barrels and crates, "I... I don't know, you... I just..."

"Uh-huh," Jo nodded, "three years, Dean. Mom and I have been here three years. While you've been speed-dailling takeout and drinking your way through a bottle of Jack Daniels every night, we've been trying to survive. You think it's easy? Living down here? If you can call it a life."

She snatched the apple off him and tossed it back into the crate with an irritated sigh.

Dean jammed his hands in his pockets, jaw set as he mulled over her words, and the stinging truth contained within them. He nodded in embarrassment and reached out to gently lay a hand on her arm.

"You're right, I don't know shit about what goes on around here," he admitted, "you guys do what you gotta do to survive, I get that."

Jo raised her eyes to meet his and shrugged in acceptance of his apology, but her lips set in a petulant pout that defied him to anger her again.

"Good," she huffed, depositing a sack of flour into his arms along with a wooden crate filled with apples and dusty looking potatoes.

The sound of heavy, measured footfalls cut through the silence that had descended around them, and both Dean and Jo glanced up as two figures sidled languidly through the door.

Jo offered the men a smile, although something about the gesture was guarded. They were just alike enough for Dean to assume they were brothers, from their identical pug noses to their piercing eyes and sandy coloured hair. The younger looking of the two took a step forward and tipped the brim of his cowboy hat in Jo's direction. Dean could almost feel the sarcastic comment he was poised to utter upon his tongue, but he managed to swallow it down; something about the way these two carried themselves set alarm bells ringing for the hunter, and so he offered a polite nod. When they stepped forwards, throwing themselves into the shafts of light filtering in through the windows, Dean recognised them instantly from the cabin.

"Joanna," the man greeted, bestowing a smile upon Jo that seemed to almost unnerve her, "your Momma thought you could use a little help with the store run. We're at your service."

"That's sweet," Jo replied, although her tone inferred that she found the gesture anything but. The man gazed back at her, blinking often, and extended one hand in an offer to assist Jo with the roll of cloth she hefted over her shoulder. Dean noted right away that his middle finger was missing below the knuckle, and he looked away quickly as he felt the eyes of the other man trained keenly upon him. Jo handed over the cloth and flashed the obligatory smile once again.

The men were an inch or two shorter than Dean, but from the way they moved he could tell that they were every bit as deadly. He wondered if they were hunters, or if they had come to dwell in Purgatory for an entirely different reason. He thought the latter was the most likely.

The elder of the pair, at least a decade older than Dean himself, glared with a kind of open hostility.

The man swept an analytical gaze over Dean, before arching an eyebrow in Jo's direction, "Friend of yours?"

Jo's smile grew tighter, and she absently shuffled closer to Dean as she explained, "Uh, yeah... this is Dean Winchester. He's an old friend."

Dean's heckles were raised by the suggestive yet infuriatingly protective glances the man continued to direct at the blonde. As he briefly pondered the last three years the two had obviously been acquainted, a deep, unsettling bubble of jealousy began to rise up from the pit of his stomach.

"Real close friend," Dean stated, returning the even stare of the newcomer and placing his hand in the centre of Jo's back.

Jo rolled her eyes, and she cleared her throat as she first gestured toward the two men and then made her formal introduction.

"Dean, this is Jesse, and his brother, Frank."

Dean blinked, his eyes darting from each of the men, before he turned his head to look down at Jo, who was simply staring down at her feet.

"Wh... Like... For real?" Dean shook his head, his expression now somewhere between disbelief and awe. Jo snorted with amusement; clearly Dean's old childhood fascinations apparently now outweighed his jealousy.

"Mmm-hmm," Jo raised an eyebrow and folded her arms across her chest, attempting to subtly indicate that Dean's wide-eyed floundering was inappropriate given the company they kept.

"Yeah, you might wanna do the whole fan-girl thing later, Dean-o," she suggested in a barely audible whisper, surveying the wholly un-amused and stoic expressions the James brothers now wore.

"We'll get these things back to Ellen and… Jo…" Jesse began, offering Jo the smallest of smiles.

"I'll settle up the bill and be back soon," Jo promised, nodding at the man in a manner that set Dean instantly bristling. He watched as the two men, perhaps the most infamous outlaws in history, hefted the goods they now carried in their arms before breezing out of the door as quickly as they had entered.

"Asshats," Dean grumbled under his breath, shrugging as Jo glared at him.

"They're ok," she insisted, approaching the counter and slamming her palm down on an old fashioned brass bell that rested there. "If it wasn't for them, Mom and I wouldn't be alive still. They were the first people we met here, and they offered us shelter. The cabin belongs to them."

"Gees, you don't do anything by half, do you Harvelle?" Dean scoffed, shaking his head as he peered behind the counter and watched a woman dressed in a tattered grey skirt and white blouse sweep towards them.

"Hey Selma," Jo said softly, offering the woman a smile, which she did not return. Instead, she turned to Dean, eyeing him with distaste.

"You brought another hunter?" the woman demanded, her voice shrill and unpleasant. She wrinkled her nose as she glared at Dean.

"He won't make any trouble," Jo promised, her expression pointed as she hooked her thumb over her shoulder, "we helped ourselves to the usual. What'll it be this time?"

"Trade of goods only, I assume?" Selma said, her sneer neither lessening nor receding. Dean assumed that surly was her usual countenance, and remained quiet as he watched Jo barter like a true expert.

Waiting until their brief exchange was over, Dean followed Jo as she stepped out of the store then waited for him to catch up to her.

"What'd Suzy Sunshine mean back there? The whole 'trade of goods' thing?" Dean asked, eyebrow raised almost as far as his suspicions, "what exactly are your trading options around here?"

Jo grinned, rolling her eyes as she indicated toward the crumbling saloon across the street. Almost on cue the drunken figure of a man came crashing out of the door, and he stumbled toward the water troughs across the street with a swagger that suggested prohibition was not an issue in Purgatory.

"Selma runs the saloon," Jo explained, "she's always looking for new girls for the bar, and..."

Dean paused, his hand landing swiftly on Jo's shoulder and he turned her around to face him, his fingers curled around her biceps, "Whoah, whoah, whoah. Wait, for the bar, or for..."

Jo simply shrugged in response, finding endless mirth in Dean's obvious shock.

"Okay," Dean drawled, "so what exactly were you trading back there?"

An amused smirk twitched at Jo's lips, and she just nodded in confirmation of his suspicions. Mustering an admirably straight face, Jo answered, "We get food and supplies, and... Selma gets a piece of ass."

Dean's mouth opened and closed in quick succession, and he shook his head as if it were about to implode.

Poking the tip of her tongue across her upper lip, Jo giggled teasingly, "You have any idea what a werewolf hide is worth around here?"

She elbowed him playfully in the ribs, and Dean huffed in a sanctimonious rebuff of her joke.

"Not funny," he groused, although he found himself powerless to prevent a smile tugging at his lips.

"Lighten up, princess," Jo ordered, beginning to pick her way through the milling townsfolk and back towards the trail they had come from, "humour's about all we got around here."

"Well, except the saloon," Dean said brightly, his mood visibly bolstered. Jo elbowed him pointedly in the ribs, shaking her head in warning, although she still wore a smile that seemed to dispute the idea of any actual annoyance.

"I should have known that would perk you right up," she tossed over her shoulder, her sly smirk indicating that she had recognised the double entendre in her own words. Dean found his cheeks blushing, and cleared his throat almost self-consciously.

They wandered along the centre of the street in silence for a few moments, Dean sliding his hand somewhat experimentally into Jo's, and smiling when she squeezed his fingers in response instead of pulling away as he had feared. Keeping his eyes trained to the ground, and with his heart hammering out an unfamiliar rhythm in his chest, Dean walked at Jo's side, enjoying the feel of her soft, supple skin against his own.

"We should start working on a plan to get us out of here," Dean said, finally breaking the companionable silence. Jo nodded, although her expression remained impassive.

"Mom and I have talked about nothing but since we landed here," she replied, lowering her voice suddenly as though she were afraid they may be overheard, "it's difficult to know where to start, especially when the folks you talk to can't agree on any one thing."

"Sounds familiar," Dean smiled briefly, thinking back on endless discussions between Sam, Bobby, Cas and himself that had all ended in bickering and disputed solutions.

A gunshot suddenly rang out, and a horse tethered nearby began to struggle against the reigns as women screamed and a further two shots resounded in the street.

Dean pulled Jo back against the wall, his hand reaching for the gun in his pocket.

"No, wait," Jo grabbed his arm and halted any further movement. She nodded over toward a small side street between two buildings, and Dean frowned as he watched a man sink down to his knees, blood oozing from two gunshot wounds in his chest. The man before him raised the weapon once again, and a final bullet struck his victim between the eyes.

Almost instantly the two figures flickered from view, and Dean blinked as he struggled to understand what he had just seen.

"Best we can figure is that it's some kind of echo," Jo explained, suddenly realising just how close they were standing. Dean's arm had snaked around her waist, and her fingers gripped the collar of his jacket.

"Happens every day right about this time," she continued on, her eyes locked with his, her tone becoming softer with each passing second.

"Like a death echo," he breathed in agreement, realising that people had once again begun to bustle busily around the town, and the guarded and suspicious gazes began to return to him.

"They say everyone here has a curse, something to make them suffer," Jo began uncertainly, glancing down at the buttons on his shirt, "some folks walk around with a hole in the head... and I pretty much mean that literally, and others... I guess their pain is different."

Dean swallowed hard, tracing his fingertip down the edge of her hand to coax her to once again place her hand in his, and perhaps to answer his proceeding question.

"What uh... " he paused, allowing her to thread her fingers through his, before he began to lead her down from the wooden walk way outside the store, and back onto the dirt road.

"What about you?"

Jo turned sharply to Dean, shaking her head before she had even begun to speak.

"I don't have any physical scars, if that's what you're oh so subtly asking," she said, her fingertips fluttering to the spot on her abdomen that had once been ripped apart by a hellhound. Dean swallowed hard, following the path of her fingers as she gripped the hem of her top and quickly tugged it upwards to expose her midriff. Dean's eyes widened as he observed the smooth and unmarked skin beneath. Jo allowed her shirt to fall again, and turned on her heel as she began to lead Dean back to the trail.

"When my Mom and I first arrived here, I was as good as dead," Jo stated, her tone more matter of fact than it really should have been. Dean listened in stony, silence, finding he now had to jog a little to match Jo's pace.

"You don't have to talk about this if…" he began, hoping to spare Jo the emotional pain that often went hand in hand with recounted memories.

"You asked, Dean," Jo replied, her voice gentle, "it's okay, really."

"Jo..." he halted her steps, and pulled on her arm, "it's okay, we don't have to talk about this right now. When we're back home, then... if you want to..."

Jo nodded, her expression softening a little, "It's not a big deal, Dean. There was a witch, she healed me. That's it."

"A witch?" Dean's brows rose in confusion, wondering what exactly the trade off had been for her assistance to the young hunter.

"Yeah," Jo shrugged, running her fingers through to the ends of her hair as the breeze blew tendrils around her face. She stared up at him almost impatiently, "I guess everyone has their price around here."

"Which was?" Dean pressed, impulsively reaching out and brushing her hair back from across her cheek. His fingertips lingered against her cheekbone, and she blushed at the flutter that drifted from the pit of her stomach.

"My firstborn," Jo deadpanned, grinning and rolling her eyes, "I don't know, supplies?!"

A quick glance at the rolling grey sky hinted that a storm would soon be upon them, and Jo reached for his hand as they began to walk back toward the woods and their cabin.

"So... you're okay?" Dean asked awkwardly, once again feeling the burden of guilt weighing upon him.

Jo tilted her head and sighed wearily, and for perhaps the first time since his arrival, Dean saw the emotional toll of her ordeal written plainly across her features.

"Pretty much," Jo replied quietly, smiling in an attempt to mask the truth behind her words, "what girl doesn't have to deal with a little heartbreak, right?!"

Dean failed to respond, knowing beyond all doubt that Jo was merely glossing over the truth in an attempt to assuage him. Silently, he squeezed her hand, consenting to the slightest smile when she squeezed his hand back.

"If I could take it back, Jo…" Dean murmured, drawing to a standstill as they reached the trees from which they had earlier emerged. They hovered on the verge of the forest, simply staring into each other's eyes as though they may find the secrets of the universe reflected back at them.

"But you can't," Jo whispered, shaking her head as tears began to tumble down her cheeks. She sniffled and glanced away, seeming faintly embarrassed by the sudden outpouring of emotion. Dean reached out a hand and trapped a single tear against her cheek with the pad of his finger. Jo stared up at him wordlessly, holding her breath for a few moments as Dean leaned forwards and brushed his lips against hers.

He drew away, aware that he was trembling, and let out a startled gasp as, in the next moment, Jo seized the back of his neck and dragged his face down towards her own. The kiss was hungry and searing, and her tongue clashed against his relentlessly. Dean grunted, pulling Jo flush against his chest and groaning, as he subconsciously poured every last ounce of pain, guilt, love and lust into the act.

They broke apart, panting and gasping, Jo's fingers still curled around the back of Dean's neck and their hearts hammering in their chests.

"And it doesn't matter," Jo finally rasped, her lips curving into a smile as Dean rested his forehead against hers, "because I don't regret it for a second, Dean. Going back for you was the best thing I've ever done."

Dean felt his heart constrict at her confession, and the very real, and mutual feelings he echoed. When words failed him, he hauled her closer and pressed his mouth against hers again.

Jo held onto him tightly, gasping for air in the few short moments between kisses, and she smiled against his lips when her back met with the trunk of a nearby tree.

"We need to get back to the cabin, it's going to get real hairy out here soon," she panted, laughing as Dean murmured in unwilling agreement and brushed the tip of his nose against hers.

"Okay," he murmured, snatching another, far more brief kiss and trying to dispel the urge to gather her up into his arms once more. He wasn't going to lose her again, but he acknowledged that for their second chance to really happen, they first needed to find their way out of Purgatory.

"Okay," he repeated, this time with a little more conviction.

From behind the couple, the sound of footfalls on the forest floor suddenly caught Dean's ear, and he spun around as bracken cracked from a few yards away.

Dean's eyes widened in disbelief at the familiar face that greeted him from behind the folds of a dark blue cloak, and his sense of unease heightened tenfold.

"Ruby?" he managed to choke out, his fingers settling blindly on the handle of his gun.

He blinked, and she was gone.

* * *

Oooooh, we do love our cliff-hangers! Reviews are love.


	4. Chapter 4

'_**The Hunted'**_

_**IIII**_

_**x-x-x**_

"Ruby?" Jo repeated, testing out the name with a frown.

Dean stared down at Jo, his eyes leaving the line of the trees, and his mouth dropped open as a consequence of delayed shock.

"She… it… I…" Dean stumbled unsuccessfully through an attempt at an explanation, all the while still peering at Jo, who had pushed herself away from the tree trunk and was looking about with every last nerve on full alert.

"I thought I saw someone… someone I know," Dean explained, suddenly falling quiet as Jo stepped out in front of him and waved one arm behind her in a demand for silence. She stood perfectly still for a few moments, her hair carried about her face on the breeze, and the rise and fall of her chest the only reminder that she was still alive.

"That way," Jo murmured, and took off in a breakneck run through a copse of spindly yet imposing trees to their immediate left.

"Jo!" Dean hollered, alarm filling him up as he tore after Jo, one arm raised in front of his face in a bid to push back the branches that lashed out at him from all angles. He felt the small cuts inflicted on his cheeks and the skin of his palms before the blood begun to ooze from them, but Dean pressed on, desperate not to lose sight of the blonde as she leaped over tree roots and hurtled after another figure that had come into view.

"Jo! Wait up!" Dean yelled again, his eyes darting across the hanging branches and foliage for a clear view of either of the women.

His feet pounded relentlessly against the bracken as he finally drew to a halt beside her, and both hunters stared with varying degrees of confusion at the hooded figured backed against a tree trunk.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Dean barked, deciding to forego all pleasantries as his heart hammered in his chest, half out of exertion and half out of unease.

Jo's eyes flicked between Dean and the witch, and her brows knit into a deep frown as she shook her head in confusion, "You guys know each other?"

"You could say that," Dean replied evenly, glaring at Ruby as if to provoke a response.

"Dean Winchester," Ruby purred, smiling as she folded her arms across her chest and regarded the hunter with apparent satisfaction, "right on time, as always."

"I aim to please," Dean quipped irritably, "now, answer the God damn question. What are you doing here?"

"Languishing," Ruby shrugged, her stance suddenly becoming more aggressive as she took a step forward and tossed her head back, "and I don't appreciate your accusatory tone, Dean."

"Ok you two, enough of the pissing contest," Jo demanded, physically moving between Dean and Ruby as the former squared up to the latter and she reciprocated with a dangerous snarl.

Ruby's gaze ticked to Jo for just a moment, and her lips curved into an almost gentle smile.

"Hey Jo," she greeted, eyes back upon Dean as he whipped around to stare at Jo, who nodded at Ruby in acknowledgement.

"Hi," she murmured, deliberately avoiding Dean's eyes, "long time no see. Where you been?"

"Around," Ruby replied, not missing a beat, "laying low, like a good little…"

"Demon?" Dean supplied helpfully, his smile sardonic. Ruby shook her head, her blonde hair whipping about her face.

"No," she answered, tone venomous at the implication, "it's all Ruby the witch in here. The demon whore that was riding my ass is long gone. After Lillith did a number on her as punishment for helping you chuckleheads, I wound up here. I guess that's the price of witchcraft these days."

Dean eyed Ruby with unchecked suspicion, and she all but purred in pleasure at his visible unease.

His gaze shifting between the two women, Dean widened his eyes at Jo, "This? This is the witch who helped you?"

Jo eyed him cautiously and then nodded, "How do you guys know each other?"

Ruby giggled, "Oh, Dean and I go way back. Isn't that right, Winchester?"

"Yeah," Dean replied curtly, unable to process exactly why Ruby of all people had so willingly come to Jo's aid.

"We go back far enough that I know that you don't do anything that isn't in your own interest, so what was in it for you, huh?" he demanded, his fury building as Ruby merely folded her arms.

"Dean," Jo placed her hand on his elbow and indicated the witch with a toss of her head, "she helped me, okay? She's not the enemy here."

"I'd listen to your better half," Ruby held him in an unwavering gaze that almost defied him to look away, "there are far bigger and badder things down here for you to worry about. Some of them you're personally acquainted with. Just wait until word gets out that you're here. I'm guessing some folks have got scores to settle with the Winchesters."

Dean narrowed his eyes, pointedly ignoring her warning as he addressed Jo.

"She's a god damn demon, Sammy and I... " he began in exasperation, rolling his eyes as Ruby interrupted him.

"No, I was meat suit, thank you," she said indignantly, "and I don't think I like your tone, Dean. I did save the woman you love, after all. What? No 'thanks'?"

Dean glowered at the woman, whose lips twitched at the corner, threatening an infuriating smirk.

"She does kind of have a point," Jo said quietly, her eyes on the floor now as she avoided Dean's gaze.

"I'd rather be eaten alive by a rabid wendigo," snarled Dean through gritted teeth.

Ruby simply shrugged, pausing to stoop down and gather the armful of wood she had dropped before being accosted. She shot an almost friendly look at Jo.

"Tea?" she offered, her tone jovial. Jo did not reply, but shuffled after Ruby who had begun to stride through the trees.

"What?" Dean yelled, cupping his hands around his lips, "you're not seriously going with her? Jo! Jo! Jo?"

Groaning, Dean shook his head before stalking after the two women, who were conversing in hushed tones that he was not altogether comfortable with. Discovering that Jo had allied herself with Ruby, or at least, the shell that the demon had worn, was a disconcerting thought that left Dean's head spinning so violently he thought he might vomit at any moment. Nevertheless, he followed behind, realising that there were very few places now that he would not follow Jo after having lost her once already.

"So, if you're not the demon, why are still going by Ruby?" Dean pressed, drawing level with the woman after a few moments of silence had elapsed. She let out a delicate snort and turned to Dean with amusement dancing in her eyes.

"You think Ruby was actually that thing's name?" she scoffed, her expression dictating that she thought Dean to be as dumb as he looked, "before it jumped me, that demon had been in hell so long it had forgotten it's real name, so it borrowed mine. I was it's first meat suit in five hundred years."

"What's your deal then?" demanded Dean, his suspicion ever present on his face, "how did you end up being hell's bitch?"

Ruby gave a small shrug, her smile oddly guarded.

"I never claimed to be an angel," she answered cryptically, "I did things… witchcraft – eternal youth, health, wealth… mostly for personal gain, and one day, I took things a little too far. I attempted a spell out of my league and the next thing I knew, I was picking myself up off the floor, except I was the backseat driver. Something dark had crawled on up inside me."

"How romantic," Dean observed sardonically, pausing as they drew to a halt in front of a large hole cut into the side of what appeared to be a small mountain. Dean frowned, realising that they had come to a cave entrance, which from the outside appearance seemed to play home to the witch. Two torches stood either side of the entrance, and into the rock had been carved a host of symbols, some of which Dean recognised, and others which looked like the patterns Sam had drawn on his Spirograph as a kid.

Noting that the two women had gone on ahead of him, Dean walked after them into the inner sanctums of the cave. The homely interior surprised him, and he frowned as he noted the various tapestries and jewel coloured linens that were dotted about the walls and floor.

"What's this? The Purgatory penthouse suite?" he scoffed, sighing as Jo sat down on a cushion, legs crossed, and looking far too relaxed for his liking.

"Glad you like what I've done with the place," Ruby retorted, hanging a small black pot over the fire. She waved her hand over the few logs in the makeshift hearth, and almost immediately a plethora of amber flames sparked into life.

"A cauldron?" he demanded with an accompanying bout of laughter, "cute."

"Relax, it's just tea," Ruby snapped, now a little irritated by Dean's apparently constant state of suspicion, "I've told you, I'm not the bad guy down here."

"Guess we'll see about that, sweetheart," Dean shook his head, unwilling to believe that beneath Ruby's actions there was not a sinister agenda.

"Huh, y'know, this is really charming," Ruby snarked, her upper lip peeling back to reveal her perfectly straight, white teeth. She jabbed one finger in Jo's direction, her eyes still trained on Dean, "I saved her life. She arrived here with her guts hanging out, and she's still breathing because of me. Do you think that level of magic was easy?"

Dean faltered, remaining deathly silent as he shot a glance at Jo, who was peering at the dirt floor. She appeared to be lost in thought, but Dean could see the tears shining in her eyes even despite the dim light of the cave. Ruby bristled and straightened up a little.

"You can think what you want about me, I don't really care," Ruby stated, hands now planted either side of her hips, "but if you're going to continue treating me like crap in my own home… well, exit through the entrance and don't let the leviathons eat you on the way out."

Dean balked at the mention of the name, and Ruby arched a fine blonde eyebrow, cocking her head as she regarded the hunter in amusement. Dean lowered himself back to the floor and Ruby nodded.

"That's what I thought," she declared with a sniff.

Dean sighed, his intent stare upon Jo, who had yet to meet his gaze. He reached out across the small space between them and slid his fingers gingerly underneath the hand she had splayed out across the dirt floor.

She wordlessly took his hand, and he wound his fingers around hers, palms pressed together until the heat from his body radiated through her skin.

Taking a deep breath, Dean prepared to swallow down every last vestige of pride, and the resentment that Ruby's presence evoked.

He caught her gaze as she dropped a handful of herbs into the boiling water, and he nodded solemnly. "Thank you."

Ruby appeared taken aback by his thanks, and though she had pressed Dean for the gratitude she felt was owing to her, she had never actually anticipated receiving it.

She nodded in silent reply, glancing between the couple as she retrieved three small tin cups and dunked each one in turn into the pleasant smelling liquid that was now bubbling and steaming from the black cast iron pot.

"I see you two have had quite the reunion," Ruby began, and suddenly her interest in his love life reignited Dean's suspicions.

Catching the wary glance Dean shot at her, Ruby said with a chuckle, "Relax, Dean. I am a girl too, you know. We actually kind of dig that stuff. The ol' romance."

"Can we… not?" Dean exclaimed, shifting uncomfortably in his position on the floor. Jo shot him a look, but he squeezed her hand in reassurance, letting her know that his discomfort had nothing to do with her, and everything to do with the witch whom he wouldn't trust as far as he could throw.

"I guess you're still wanting answers then," Ruby said, her mouth pressing into a thin line as she handed Jo a cup and then slightly less politely thrust one under Dean's nose. "It's not poisoned, in case you were wondering."

"Hey, maybe you healed Jo out of the goodness of your heart," Dean replied, working hard to keep the scorn in his voice to a moderate level, "but I kind of doubt that. You said yourself… you were a sucker for the whole 'personal gain' thing."

"True, true," Ruby answered, a smile now lighting her features as though she was conversing with an old friend whom she hadn't seen in quite some time. She raised the mug to her lips and took a long sip before affixing her gaze back on Dean.

In a soft purr, she whispered, "Are we sitting comfortably? Good. Then I'll begin…"

**x-x-x**

Their voices had carried through the woods, calling out her name in desperate, sharp bursts that caused the witch to hide her head beneath the blankets she had been sleeping under.

Footfalls and the sound of bracken snapping and cracking roused her further from her slumber, and with an increasingly angry countenance, Ruby rose from her mattress and threw a shawl around her slim shoulders.

Her bare feet pounded against the cold, dark earth as she hurried to the mouth of the cave, and she cast a quick glance up at the spells and charms that hung around the entrance to ensure her safety from others who dwelled in her world.

"What do you want?" she yelled, blue eyes flashing dangerously as the source of the commotion came into view, and the James brothers marched through the darkness toward her home.

"Are you crazy? You're going to have every last hellhound and lycan after your hides!"

The two men drew to a halt, and Ruby noticed with some interest that Jesse was carrying a young woman in his arms, and a large, gaping wound on her side gushed an alarming amount of blood.

Dark red matted the ends of her light blonde curls, and Ruby detected the familiar stench of iron as it carried on the cool night air.

"Evening, Miss Ruby," Frank nodded politely, one arm draped around another, older woman, as he held aloft a flaming torch with the other.

"This better be good, boys," Ruby folded her arms across her chest, her eyes roving both the injured woman, and the streams of tears that flowed down her companion's cheeks.

"We need your help, she doesn't have long," Frank barked, stomping through the line of salt across the cave threshold with little regard for the witch's response.

"You can't just march on in here and demand my services," Ruby growled, stepping back as Jesse followed his brother, the other woman lingering behind, "I'm not your whore, Frank."

"Now, now, let's not get excited," Jesse stated softly, tipping his head almost politely at Ruby, "we found these two in the woods, about to be torn apart by a pack of hounds. We scared them off but this here lady isn't looking too good."

Ruby glanced back down at the half conscious woman, who was breathing raggedly and groaning. Beads of perspiration dotted her forehead, and her cheeks were smudged with blood that Ruby presumed was her own.

"Can you help my daughter?" the other woman almost pleaded, one hand curling gently around Ruby's forearm. She added in a breathy whisper that intensified the strength of her Southern drawl, "Please… she's everything I have."

Ruby stared at the brunette, whose terror at the prospect of losing her child was palpable, and she wrestled with the faint sense of pity beginning to gnaw at her conscience. However, Ruby had worked hard to cultivate a reputation of fear and healthy respect in Purgatory, and she was all too aware that it could be erased with just the one good deed. Her survival she was certain depended on its survival, and so she shook her head.

"She's too far gone," she said, curling her lip as she pulled back the thin tatters of the grey shirt that had been partially obscuring the ugly wound on the girl's abdomen, "I'm sorry. There's nothing I can do for her."

The dark haired woman dissolved into noisy sobs, her shaking hand stroking her daughter's ever paling cheek.

Ruby sighed, shrugging as she added by means of some small comfort, "Look, I don't know how you got dragged down here alive, but... even if she dies..."

"Her soul will be trapped here," the stranger wept, adding a final plea that drifted from her lips in little more than a whisper, "please."

Ruby rolled her eyes, reaching out with a rather heavy hand and snatching up the young blonde's wrist. She frowned as she felt for a pulse, and as expected, the thrum was faint and irregular beneath her fingertips.

Ruby was about to release her hand, but a sudden, vivid light clouded her mind, and she grasped the girl's wrist harder as a vision flickered before her eyes.

A familiar face came into view, and Ruby saw the smile of an old acquaintance, and an image of a woman she knew to be the one in Jesse's arms.

Years of memories elapsed in seconds, and the witch was privy to every last gaze and conversation that had existed between the pair. Their most recent exchange inflicted a stab of sympathy upon Ruby's heart, and she clutched at her chest as it manifested physically.

Their tearful goodbye; their first and final kiss; the regret, anger and injustice that clouded both their hearts; Ruby saw and felt it all. But then somehow, out of all that had been, the sorceress saw all that would be, and in an instant the woman's fate became less clear. In her mind's eye, Ruby saw events yet to be; He would come for her- of that she was certain.

The vision ended as quickly as it had begun, and the witch stumbled backwards, grateful when Frank extended an arm to steady her.

Ruby's head turned sharply in the older woman's direction, "Winchester?"

The woman stopped sobbing only long enough to look shocked, and she bobbed her head.

"Yeah, we know them," she replied quietly, silently lamenting ever having met the brothers who had led to her daughter's violent death.

Ruby's gaze flicked back to Jo, and she gestured over toward the mattress in the corner of the room.

"Put her on the bed, but be careful you don't get blood everywhere," she directed, hurrying over to a small wooden chest, which she opened and produced three small glass bottles from.

"You'll help her?" the mother asked, her eyes betraying a slim sense of hope.

"Yes," Ruby agreed, throwing a variety of leaves, flowers and powders into a wooden bowl. She plucked a solitary hair from the blonde's head, and dropped it into her concoction before pricking her own finger with the tip of a tiny silver dagger and squeezing a droplet of blood into the bowl.

"You sure you can do this, Ruby?" Jesse asked, stepping back as he allowed the older woman to drop down beside her daughter, her head tenderly cradled against her arm.

"You doubting my magic, Jesse?" crooned Ruby, smiling as her head dropped back and she began to chant in Latin, the force of the incantation rocking her body from side to side.

The brothers watched her in a mixture of awe and obvious fear, and they clutched their hats against their chests as their gazes ticked between Ruby and the newcomers.

The witch's eyes rolled until only the whites were exposed, and she crumpled onto her knees, breathing hard. An almost yellow light seemed to seep out of Ruby's body before rising up into the air and hovering above Jo. It shimmied in the atmosphere above her ruined body for a moment, before beginning to pour into the open wound that threatened her life.

Ruby's lips curved into a breathless smile, and she affixed the older woman with her steady gaze. Reaching out a hand, she offered the small pot of now liquidised herbs and various other ingredients.

"She'll wake soon, and she'll be just fine. Remember to cover the wound with this every couple of hours," Ruby instructed, holding the woman's gaze as she nodded profusely, more tears staining her cheeks.

"Thank you," she choked out, finally reaching forwards and grabbing Ruby in a near smothering embrace. She mumbled into the witch's hair with vehemence, "Thank you so much."

**x-x-x**

Ruby clapped her hands together and regarded the couple in turn, "And that's pretty much it."

Dean looked suitably stunned by her tale, and it seemed Jo too had not previously been aware of certain facts contained within Ruby's account.

"Wait, you healed me because you saw Dean?" Jo blinked, a sudden sense of unease settling in the pit of her stomach.

Ruby shrugged, "Let's just say what I saw makes me think there just might be a way out of this place, and I want out. I've rotted away long enough."

Dean winced in disbelief, arching an eyebrow as he glanced at the witch, "And what exactly was it that you saw?"

Ruby laughed, shaking her head as she regarded the hunter with an air of smug superiority, "I saw you arrive here... I knew you'd come for her. Lost lovers reunited, and all that jazz."

Dean shook his head, glancing apologetically at Jo, "I didn't come here for Jo. I didn't even know where 'here' was until my ass hit the ground. I thought... we all..." he licked his lips, his fingers curling that little bit tighter around Jo's, "I thought she was dead."

Ruby nodded, "Easy mistake to make. And if the hounds hadn't dragged her and Ellen down here when they did, they would have been. But, you don't understand how the universe works, Dean. Everything happens for a reason. You're meant to be here. You're meant to find a way home."

Dean snorted in amusement, "So you can ride our coat tails out of here, you mean."

Ruby sipped her tea and eyed him defiantly, "There's a life waiting for you beyond here. Beyond your father's memory, and that big old hunk of guilt you carry around your neck, Dean. You want what I saw, believe me... you hunger for it, you always have deep down inside. It's yours for the taking." She nodded towards Jo, who was listening in silence, "She's yours, too. But you know that already."

Jo licked her lips, her cheeks beginning to colour as a consequence of Ruby's words, and she turned her face away from Dean for a moment to look directly at the witch.

"The way you're talking makes it sound like you have a plan," Jo accused, one eyebrow shooting up in a probing gesture. Dean glared at Ruby, cocking his head to one side and slamming his cup down on the ground, causing warm tea to slosh over the sides.

"Is that true? Do you know how we bust out of here?" he demanded, leaning towards Ruby, whose features were illuminated by her smile. There was a certain dangerous beauty about her, but Dean dared not underestimate her because of it. He had no doubt that, despite shaking off the demon that had ridden her body, Ruby the witch was every bit as deadly.

"If there's a spell specifically to get us out of Purgatory, then I don't know it," Ruby answered, her tone blunt and honest. The corner of her lips twitched upwards again, and then she added, "But I do have a spell that I think I can work with."

"Go on…" Dean probed, his tone somewhat sceptical and every nerve on edge as he awaited an explanation.

"I have a spell that can take you to Sam, and since Sam is presumably still shuffling around the mortal coil, my guess is that's where you'd wind up," Ruby explained, her eyes ticking from Dean to Jo and back again as she attempted to gauge their reactions to the plan.

"What's the catch?" Dean demanded immediately.

"A soul," said Ruby, a sigh escaping her lips, "I need a soul to complete the spell. Or more specifically, I would need the soul of somebody with a direct link to Sam. That's how the spell works. It creates a doorway using the link between two souls."

"So why haven't you done it before?" Jo queried, draining the final dregs from the bottom of her cup and then laying it aside. "There are hundreds of souls down here. I bet most of them would help you if it meant they could find a way out."

"The people down here are dead. Their souls are trapped in torment – not clean enough for heaven, and too vanilla for hell. They're damaged goods as far as this kind of mojo is concerned," Ruby reasoned, "plus, I need a little blood too, and there are very few who are actually confined to Purgatory in a body. Aside from me, you and Ellen are the only others I've met. You have no surviving relatives up top, and I was pushing two hundred and change when I got down here."

"Well, no problem," Dean declared, standing up suddenly, his face alive with excitement, "I've done my fair share of bleeding for rituals. Hand me something sharp, let's go get Ellen, and we're out of here."

Ruby laughed, her smile almost taunting as she interrupted Dean's enthusiastic tirade, "Okay, slow down Romeo, you really think it's that simple?"

Dean paused, his eyebrow raised questioningly as he regarded the witch with equal measure curiosity and irritation.

Ruby laughed and shook her head, "I told you, I don't just need blood. I need a soul. One soul to be chewed up and spat out as a doorway by some seriously dark magic. It'll be so stretched out of shape in the end that God himself wouldn't recognise it."

She folded her hands in her lap, "You still want to volunteer to be our little sacrificial goat?"

Jo stared at him wide-eyed and shook her head.

"No. He doesn't," she interjected, answering before Dean had a chance to.

Dean's jaw set, and he grunted in defeat, "Okay, so... you've obviously got a plan. You want to share with the rest of the class?"

Dean squeezed Jo's hand and he shot her a lop-sided smile, "I'm crazy, not suicidal, okay?!"

"Never can tell with you," Jo drawled, chuckling as he winked at her.

Ruby watched a smile pass between the couple, and she shrugged absently, although Dean noted the expression that flashed across the witch's features with distinct unease.

"There is one other person..." Ruby blanched, "well, _being_... down here, with a link to up top."

"Everybody down here's gotta be related to someone alive," he began, his brows knitting together as Ruby interrupted him.

"Dead souls, remember Dean? Stay with me here," Ruby growled, watching Dean's face carefully before she added in a cryptic purr, "you can bleed for me… but there's another soul down here with a link to a Winchester who none of us would mind seeing all bent out of shape."

"Yellow Eyes," Dean growled, his heart suddenly beating faster in his chest.

The demon, the creature who had taken his mother's life, inhabited the same world he had found himself in. Fear surged through Dean as he considered the link between the demon and his family line. As he glanced at the woman beside him, he was overcome with trepidation. If the demon remained intent on destroying the Winchesters, Dean, Jo, and even Ellen would all be potential targets.

His features contorted by the anger rapidly overwhelming him, Dean snarled, "How do we find him?"

Ruby only smiled.


End file.
